Her Name is Bella: Masen Days Prequel
by purelyamuse
Summary: Masen Days prequel. Masen places a rare phone call to Alice. She remembers enjoying summers with him, watching him grow and learn to withstand his troubled childhood. Time Frame: Before Masen Days leading into the first chapter. POV: Alice
1. Alice

**Her Name is Bella by Purelyamuse**

**Summary: **Masen Days prequel. Masen places a rare phone call to Alice. She remembers enjoying summers with him, watching him grow and learn to withstand his troubled childhood.** Time Frame:** Before Masen Days leading into the first chapter. **POV:** Alice **Rating: **M **Warning:** Contains talk of domestic violence and drug use.

**A/N:** This was written for the Fandom For Texas Wildfire Relief compilation. It contains** Masen Days spoilers**,so read Masen Days first. Her Name is Bella Extras (chapter pictures and playlist) are on the blog under Masen Days Extras.

**Playlist: **MsJaxTeller** Prereaders: **_ss77_, TwiFanMom, modernsafari, Dinx **Betas: **Perrymaxed, Mac214

**Playlist: **Acoustic #3 by the Goo Goo Dolls, You've got a friend by Jeanette Mccurdy (James Taylor cover), Guardian Angel by Red Jump Suit Apparatus, Wonderful by Everclear, Hold On by Good Charlotte

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Twilight.

**Chapter 1: Alice**

I'm at my craft table working on a new line. I've scoured thrift shops all summer looking for the funkiest ties. I'm making bags for my booth at the Tustin Flea Market. I saw something similar online, but I know I can make it better for less money. Based on my usual clientele, I think these will be a big hit. Who wouldn't want a cool messenger bag?

I'm working through the stitching of the inside pocket when the phone rings over the roar of my Singer. No one answers it. It rings again. "Jasper, can you get it?" I yell.

"Bathroom," he calls back. I bolt from my seat and into our bedroom, finding the phone on the dresser. I smile, looking at the caller ID. This is a nice surprise.

"Hey, stoner," I say, breathing hard.

"Hey," comes a familiar voice.

"You're calling me."

"Uh huh."

"You never call me," I say, a bit baffled.

"I call—all the time, Alice."

"No, you don't. You call me back. It's different."

"Whatever."

"So, what's up?"

"Nothing much . . ."


	2. Me Too

**Chapter 2: Me Too**

I've known Edward since I was eight years old. I played with him briefly every summer while his family stayed at my next door neighbor's – his aunt and uncle's, the Cullens. At first he wasn't so bad. He was little – only four years old – and cute. He had a lisp. He followed his cousins, Jasper and Rosalie, around and liked to play tag with us. It was fun.

Then one summer I decided I hated his guts because he had a happy family, and I did not. He'djust spent his sixth birthday at Disneyland. My mom and stepdad were fighting again, and his Aunt Esme invited me over to dinner because I didn't want to go home. He sat at the table between his happy parents, slurping spaghetti into his toothless mouth, wearing Mickey Mouse ears, and I wanted to punch him in the face. I was so jealous.

My feelings for him changed rapidly over the summers that followed, so much so that I now consider him my best friend. We only spent five or six weeks together at a time when he visited, but those weeks are such a part of me. They are my most vivid memories. I distinctly remember the summer that really solidified our relationship.

Edward's curled up in a ball beside the couch, talking to no one. It's his eighth birthday today. Esme's made him a cake with a cool racecar on the top. It looks delicious. I can't wait to eat it, but Edward doesn't seem to care. In fact, he doesn't seem to care about anything. He didn't want to play video games when Jasper and I offered. We tried everything, even stooped to baby games like hide and seek and Chutes and Ladders. He shook his head at everything, so we gave up and played video games while he sort of watched.

After we played games, Rosalie stole Jasper away. He's helping her move furniture in her room. She does that all the time. She's fourteen – two years older than me – and has breasts already and everything. She's so cool. I wish I had a sister like her, but all I have is my gross stepbrother, James. He thinks he's so cool since he turned fifteen and got his learner's permit. He's so stupid with his greasy hair and dirty jeans. I don't know how his girlfriend kisses him. Ew. He tried to kiss Rosalie once, and she kicked him in the privates. I want to be just like her when I'm fourteen.

I hear Jasper grunting upstairs as he moves around Rosalie's furniture. He's so loud. I giggle softly as I sit at the kitchen table drawing while Esme makes dinner. She's on the phone, talking in a quiet voice. It sounds important. I try to be invisible so I can listen, and it works. She's talking about Edward. His mom, Elizabeth, is sick and in the hospital. No wonder he's so sad. His Aunt Erin is with her, taking care of her. I'm not sure where Edward Senior is. I guess back home in Arizona too.

I color in my drawing of a dress as Esme's voice rises. She stirs her pot furiously, shouting, "I hate to say it, but I knew this would happen. Didn't we tell her in high school? The way he grabbed her elbow that day in lunch. I can't believe this. And what about Edward? What now? Of course, he can stay with me, but what about him? I'm worried for him. He's eight, Erin – eight. He could get killed if Ed ever hit him. Can you imagine? I'm keeping him here until she's ready to go home. I'm not sending him back with that monster. I can't imagine how scared he was watching the whole thing. It terrifies me, and I'm an adult. No, of course not – no one's in here. Geez, you think I'd talk like this if—" Esme turns to see me and covers the receiver of the phone abruptly. "Alice, honey, why don't you go find Jasper and play?"

"Okay," I say, although I know Jasper's busy. Edward's right outside on the swing set. I go outside instead, wanting to comfort him somehow, finally knowing what's making him so moody. I'd be moody too if my stepdad ever hit my mom.

I sit next to Edward and kick off with my feet, pumping my legs. He sits still and stares at his shoes. I swing for a few minutes and come to a slow stop. I twist my seat around and spin for a bit. I bump Edward accidentally, but he doesn't do anything. "Sorry," I say. He doesn't respond. "Want to twist together?"

Edward nods, and we both take our position at opposite ends of the swing set before running and twisting together, laughing and holding on tight so we don't go flying into outer space. Edward has a nice laugh. I like it. We settle back into our seats the right way and swing side by side in silence.

Esme opens the door and gives us a five minute warning before dinner's ready. I can see Jasper and Rosalie setting the table already. The lasagna she made smells so darn good. I can't wait to eat it.

"Are you hungry?" Edward nods, and I laugh. "Are you gonna talk at all this summer?" Edward shakes his head. "You can talk to me." He shakes his head again. "You don't have to though. Makes sense since we're kinda strangers and all. But you should know it gets easier when you get older. My stepdad doesn't hit my mom, but he yells a lot. He tells her she's dumb. And sometimes he throws things."

Edward looks up at me, frightened.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm okay. I'm fast, and my mom says we'll leave if he ever touches us."

Edward kicks off the ground and swings beside me. At first I watch as his face contorts with the effort it takes to propel his legs back and forth. Occasionally, he glances at me but turns away sheepishly when he catches my stare. He's still afraid, only I hope it's not of me.

Before long Rosalie opens the door yelling, "Dinner!"

I jump off my swing, and Edward does too. He has a pretty good jump for a little kid. I like that.

"You're it," I say, tagging him and running to the back door. He chases after me and tags me just before we get onto the covered patio. "You're supposed to say 'you're it', Edward. How are we supposed to play if you don't talk?"

He nods his head and whispers, "Okay."

"What?" I say, looking over his head.

"I said 'okay'."

"Huh? Is someone talking?"

"I said 'okay'."

"What's that? I can't hear you."

"Okay! I said 'okay', Alice!"

I dip my head to look at his face. "Oh, hi, Edward. I didn't see you there." He grins, his big front teeth taking up his whole mouth. "It's time to eat. Did you know?" He nods his head, and I frown.

He laughs, then says, "Yes, I know."

I turn around and scuff my feet on the doormat. Esme gets real mad if you bring mud into her house. I learned the hard way and had to leave my shoes outside the front door for a whole week afterward. I reach for the handle, and Edward taps my back. I turn around and peer down into his green eyes. They're pretty like the ocean.

"What, kid?"

"I'm sorry your dad yells at your mom."

"Stepdad," I say, correcting him. "And I'm sorry your dad hit your mom." Edward shrugs. "I hope she gets better.

"Me too."

"Let's eat. I'm starving. Last one to wash their hands is a rotten egg!" We burst through the back door and race down the hallway into the bathroom. We fight over the sink, but in the end I let him win. He's just a kid: a kid with bigger problems than me. He smiles at me throughout dinner. He's a sweet little guy. I hope things gets better for him.


	3. I Got Pushed

**Chapter 3: I Got Pushed**

I was so hopeful for him then, but things have changed so much since that summer – and not for the better. My thoughts have returned to the present even though the phone line is silent. I'm waiting for him to start talking. He called me, not the other way around, so I know he has something to say.

"School starts tomorrow." Ah, here we go.

"It's not too late. You can still get here in time to get enrolled in the morning."

"We've—I'm not moving. My aunt has done enough for me."

"I'm not talking about Esme. Jasper and I think you should live with us, but you know this already."

"That's—I couldn't—my mom . . ."

"Okay. So school . . . what about it?"

"Senior year . . ."

"You'll be done in a year, legal. No one could send you back home if you left. We'd all help you out. Would you consider it then?"

"I don't know. I . . ."

I really hate waiting for him to warm up. It's so hard to be patient when he's this way – when he's Masen. I want Edward – not this quiet reserved little boy that's terrified of the world. But I understand. I saw it happen to him. Little by little he put up this mask, this wall, this whatever it is that keeps his heart safe. I would too if I had lived his life. I remember the summer that he actively started closing himself off due to his home life.

Edward comes to stay with his aunt and uncle every summer by himself. He stays with us – I say us because I'm here all the time too – for several weeks and then goes home to his parents. He never seems happy about leaving. I wouldn't be either if I had to watch my stepdad hit my mom, although seeing him hit James is just awful. He still hasn't touched me, although, sometimes I wish he would, so we could leave.

Edward and I play Monopoly in his room – the guest room upstairs – and talk. We do a lot of talking. We understand each other. And even though he's really young, I still like talking to him, although sometimes I think Jasper gets upset about that. I don't really care though. He's been dumb lately. Sara told me he kissed Heather after an away basketball game before school let out for summer break. He still hasn't told me. It makes me so mad. Why wouldn't he tell me? I'd tell him if I had my first kiss.

"Does he – um, has he – hit your mom too?"

"No, never." I move my top hat onto Boardwalk and fork over my dough. Geesh, he's wiping me clean. "He calls James and me Idiot One and Idiot Two, like he's funny or something."

"That's dumb."

"He's dumb. Your turn."

"Is James smoking cigarettes? I thought I saw some last week."

"Yeah, he's doing all kindsa stupid stuff. He got suspended this year for yelling at a teacher and throwing a chair. He's like his dad."

"He ever hurt anybody?"

"Yep."

Edward reads his Community Chest card so slow. I'm hungry and wish I was done playing. This game takes too long, but I promised I'd play it since I got it for his tenth birthday. I'm picking the pink nail polish off my thumbnail when Edward starts to sniffle. When I look up, he ducks his head under his shirt, crying. I move the board out of the way and slide over to Edward, wrapping my arm around him. "You want to go swing?"

Edward wipes his nose and nods. We go out back and swing silently side by side. Jasper's shooting hoops out front. The bouncing of the ball echoes into the back. The Cullens' backyard – well, the swing set, really – has become our little sanctuary, a place where we can be honest and confide in each other. We do our best talking there. It helps, too, that no one else really uses it. We're all too old to be swinging, anyway. But Edward isn't, so I swing with him.

Edward stops his swing and rubs his shoe in the dirt below it. I stop and pull my feet up onto the swing. "I got pushed," he says, voice soft.

"Your dad?"

"He was mad 'cause I told 'im to stop it when he was pushing Mom. I got a big bruise." He lifts the sleeve of his shirt up, showing his arm, but there's nothing to see. He's been here for awhile now, so I guess it healed.

"Well, it's all gone now. Our bodies can always heal. Hearts are harder though. Did you cry?" Edward nods. Poor little kid. What a bully his dad is, just like my stepdad – only worse. "James says you should never cry 'cause it shows you're weak."

"Aunt Erin says it's okay to cry," Edward says, wiping his nose.

"Crazy Erin doesn't have any kids, and she's never been pushed, I bet. Does your mom cry?"

"A lot," he says, wiggling himself into a standing position before swinging that way.

"Maybe if she didn't cry he wouldn't hit her so much. Kinda like how Jasper burps when he's bored, so Rosalie will yell at him. He picks on her for the reaction."

"He does that?" Edward laughs and swings higher.

"He likes her to chase him through the house. His goal is to be able to jump clear over the couch. I think he can do it. He's good on his feet."

"I like when he burps. Did you know he taught me to make armpit farts? He's so funny. "

"He is, huh? And I taught him how to make armpit farts when we were eleven."

"Oh. Well, you're funny too."

"I know," I tease and jump from the swing. He follows after me. "Do you want some ice cream?"

"Yeah," Edward says, voice high and excited.

"Carlisle's in the garage fixing Jasper's bike. Go ask him. He'd never say no to you. Ooh, I bet he'll take us to Dairy Queen."

"I don't know . . ."

"Don't be a big baby, come on." I give him a jab to the belly, and he jumps away, running toward the side of the house. We burst through the wooden gate, and Edward runs straight to Carlisle while I wrestle the ball from Jasper, so I can shoot hoops too.

After a yummy dinner of homemade chicken pot pie, the Cullens take us all out for ice cream. I ended up asking if we could go; Edward didn't have the courage to do it. Jasper and I both want a chocolate fudge sundae, so we share. Rosalie eats a tiny dipped cone, a scowl on her face. She had a date with Royce but had to cancel for our impromptu family night. Whoops.

Edward sits next to his aunt, eating a Buster Bar while she strokes his hair. They look so much alike they're often mistaken as mother and son. I've heard her explain to people before they're not, and she always looks a little sad after, like it was hard to say. Being in a family is tough. I wish it wasn't.

When we get home, I bolt out of the van and run home, but I can already hear the yelling before I get past the mailbox. I run inside anyway, ignoring the name calling, and pack an overnight bag. It's one of _those_ nights. With Edward at the Cullens' there's nowhere really for me to sleep, but I think they'll let me use the fold out couch.

When I get back over there, Carlisle greets me with a hug and asks me if I remembered my toothbrush. He's such a good dentist. Jasper and I pull out my bed and cover it in pillows. Edward, Jasper, and I watch a movie together before we go to sleep.

It's late at night, and Edward and Jasper sleep next to me on my couch bed. I don't mind; I like the company. There's a faint light down the hallway coming from Esme and Carlisle's room. If I close my eyes and block out Jasper's light snoring, I can hear their muffled words.

"Do you think he's safe there?"

"No, and there's no way of knowing. He barely talks anymore. Do you remember when they stayed here the time they went to Sea World? He was the chattiest kid, worse than Alice, and now . . . he's like a shell of who he was. It's like I'm watching my nephew disintegrate before my eyes."

"Well, what can we do?"

"I don't know, honey. I don't know."

"I wish he could stay with us."

"You know how I feel about it, but there's nothing we can do. I mean, unless it gets bad, like really bad, he's just . . ."

They're quiet for a long while before Esme speaks up. "He's so skinny this summer. I'm so worried, Carlisle."

"I am too, honey."

Their words fade away, and I fall asleep sandwiched between my best friend and the younger brother I never had.


	4. I'll Fall

**Chapter 4: I'll Fall**

He was my younger brother then, and he's my younger brother now. Though, currently he sits on the other line not speaking to me, so I have to push – just a little. "You know I love you, so whenever you want to talk about it, whenever you're ready . . . you tell me, okay?"

"Okay."

I move outside to sit on my swing. I find my patience and peace here. When we were house shopping, the swing set was one of the main reasons I wanted the house. It just made it feel like home to me. I work on some hand sewing in the dim light while I'm on the phone. I never know how long I'll have with Edward. Sometimes it's minutes, sometimes hours. He seems pretty relaxed right now, even though he's not talking much.

"I was at The Wedge today."

"Yeah? Learn anything new?"

"Nah."

"You still running the show there?"

"Guess so. James taught me a lot. Most of the guys I skate with, they . . . didn't have someone like that in their lives. Had to figure it out themselves."

I remember fondly the summer that James took Edward under his wing. I was terrified he'd teach him some of his bad habits, but instead he gave him a sense of self – he gave him skateboarding.

"Edward!" I yell, running from my house to the Cullens', traipsing over Esme's newly planted flowers. I come to an abrupt stop just before him, placing hands on my knees and catching my breath.

"Hi," he says with a nod and an awkward bounce. He's never been this shy with me before – what gives? He's grown a lot since last summer. His shorts are too short, way above his knees, and he's thin, so thin.

I pull him into a hug, and he pats my back. "Hug me for real, doofus," I say, and he squeezes me.

"All right, Alice, that's enough. I didn't get my hug yet." Esme pats Edward's shoulder and wraps her arm around him. Carlisle gets his bag; she walks him toward the door, talking all the while.

"Well, the first thing we need to do is fatten you up. I took lots of cooking classes this year, so I'm ready to try them all out on you. Is that okay, honey?"

Edward shrugs. I frown at the act. It's like he doesn't even know us anymore, like we're acquaintances. Jasper makes a face at me, and I push his shoulder away, following Esme and Carlisle into the house.

When Esme said she was going to fatten Edward up, she wasn't kidding. She cooked and baked non-stop from the second he stepped through her door. Not only that, but she kept Edward by her side while she did it. I felt like I hardly saw him at all. I missed my friend.

After an impromptu lesson on the importance of protein – which included the moistest peanut butter cookies I've ever had – I steal Edward away for an Alice and Edward day.

Hanging out with a twelve-year-old when you're sixteen should be lame, but that's not the case. Once I get Edward loosened up – which is more challenging this summer than the last – he's really fun to hang out with. He's witty and sarcastic and likes to tease a bit. I like that. His goofy side appeals to me. Jasper could learn a lesson or two from his cousin, but he's too busy trying to be Mister Popular.

Edward and I take a walk to our neighborhood park. On the way there, James passes us with some of his thug friends on skateboards. They nearly take us out, the jerks.

When we get to the park, the gang is already there, skating and throwing tricks. I'm trying to engage Edward in a real conversation to see how things are at home, but he's not paying attention. He's too focused on the too-old-to-be-at-the-park teenagers and their fancy skateboarding.

After several attempts to get his attention, I give up. "Do you want to try?" Edward shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," I say, hinting that I hate his nonverbal communication, though I understand it. I wouldn't say anything either if I was constantly worried about saying the wrong thing and getting hit for it – something he confided in me last summer during his stay.

It seems belittling leads to pushing, which leads to hitting. I know this to be fact since I watched it happen in my own home – first with James, then my mother, and finally me. Lucky for me – if there is luck involved – my mother said goodbye to James's dad the day he took his first swing at me. He left everything behind: his clothes, his tools – even his son – and never looked back.

I didn't mind that he left so many things because he was gone. Hell, I didn't even mind that James stuck around. In fact, I got used to having a sibling; I actually liked it. What I did mind was that my mother was never the same after dealing with his abuse. She was a bitter, resentful, heartbroken ex-wife who didn't exactly know how to raise two kids by herself. Subsequently, our relationship was never what it could have been.

"I'll fall," he says quietly.

I shrug this time. "You've had worse. Come on."

Holding Edward's hand, I drag him behind me until we reach the skaters. "James, let me use your board."

"No way," he says.

"Edward wants to try."

"So find your own board."

"Just let him try."

"It's fine. I don't really care," Edward says, cowering behind me.

"It's not fine," I huff, letting go of his hand and placing my own on my hips.

"You give him your board right now, or I'll tell mom."

"Tell your mom what?"

"I know about the pot . . ."

James curses and pushes the skateboard to us. We scoot away from the crowd and take turns trying to ride it, though each time it's Edward's turn, he suggests we give it back. Not a chance. After I've fallen too many times to count, and Edward has pulled me back up, one of James's buddies takes pity on us.

I wave him away when he tries to lend me a hand. I sit off to the side of the basketball court and watch as Edward takes to the skateboard like he's done this a hundred times. By the time we leave, he's managed to stay upright, flip the board, and do a spinny thing. He's really good. He smiles the whole way home. I'm so happy to see a genuine smile on his face again. I feel like I haven't seen one for so long.

Late at night in my bed, the low sounds of James's voice come through my open window. He's chatting up his girlfriend, no doubt. At least I think so, until I hear Edward's young laugh. In my startled state, I grab my blanket and shuffle to the window to sit and watch Edward and James talk.

They're standing by the trash cans, arms folded. They look like such an odd pair – James's intimidating figure hovering over Edward's frail form. But I'm not worried for him. James has actually mellowed out since he's started smoking pot. I don't mind it.

I tuck my feet beneath me and lean my head against my hand, straining to hear their conversation. What on earth could they be talking about?

I can't make out much of what they're saying, but at one point James slams his skateboard down on top of the trash can. I flinch at the sound, but Edward doesn't. He's stationary, taking it in, learning, I guess. The minutes tick by before Esme calls for Edward, but he brushes her off, which is essentially unheard of. Whatever James and Edward are talking about must be important.

Over the next few weeks, Edward and I frequent the park, and James is almost always there, willing to show Edward some trick. One evening, we arrive and instead of pushing Edward his board, James hands him an extra one – and just like that, Edward the skater is born.


	5. I Go by Masen Now

**Chapter 5: I Go By Masen Now**

The thought of Edward skating with his new friends pulls me from my memories. I wonder what he's like at The Wedge. I'd like to see him there someday.

"People still fooled by your _skating_ bruises?" I ask.

"I guess. Most just assume . . ."

"They're stupid."

"Not all. Some know—at least, I think. I'm not exactly—"

"Talkative?" He doesn't respond. "Honestly, I don't know how you have friends with how closed off you are. Masen sucks."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious; he never says anything."

"I say plenty."

"Edward says plenty. Masen . . . not so much."

"You make it sound like I've got a disorder or something."

"Well, maybe . . ."

He chuckles while I scowl. I've never been fond of this Masen business, but I get it. Edward made sure that I got it. In fact, it was the one and only time he's yelled at me. Like so many other memories of him, this is one that I could never forget.

Edward turns thirteen in two days, and when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he merely said he wanted me to watch him skate. I'm at the park now, and he's skating with a bunch of other guys – including a baked James – who have really taken to him. He's even teaching them tricks now.

When he sees me, he skates over to say hello, but I wave him off. I really just want to watch.

"Masen!" Luke shouts from the curb. "Show me that new move where you . . ."

I can't figure out what he's saying because something's not making sense. He just called my best friend Masen when his name is Edward. As I try to wrap my brain around that, Edward does the trick, and I'm pulled out of my thoughts, stunned by just how good he is.

He finishes up, and we're ready to go, heading out when James catches up to us. "Hey, Masen, good skatin' today, man."

"Thanks," Edward says, and I stop, pulling at his arm.

"What's with Masen?"

"I go by Masen now. Have since seventh grade. Everyone calls me Masen."

"Why does everyone call you by your last name?"

"That's how I introduce myself."

"Duh, but—"

"Butt out. It's none of your damn business," James says, pushing my arm away.

"None of my business? Edward's like—I mean—"

"Why can't you just let it go?" James asks, his tone condescending.

"Because he's not Masen. He's Edward."

"Edward's my dad," Edward says, hands in his pockets, one foot on his board.

"But you're Edward too," I say.

"Maybe he doesn't want to be," James says, defending Edward.

"You don't want to be Edward?"

"Not really," Edward says.

"Yeah, but—"

"My dad's an abusive asshole. What do you want me to say?" Edward says, voice rising in volume – a rarity for him.

"I want you to say you have pride in who you are; forget your father. This is about you and—"

"You don't get it. He doesn't want be called the same name as his prick father!" James shouts.

"But—"

"C'mon, Masen, you don't have to deal with this." James claps Edward on the back, and they skate away, leaving me at the park.

Dinner rolls around, and I feel awful. I sit across from Edward, eating like there's nothing wrong at all, but all I want to do is hug him and say I'm sorry. I won't, though. My family doesn't do that, so it's just not in me to apologize.

"Alice, can you pass the potatoes to Edward, please?" Esme asks.

"Sure," I say, then add as I hold them out, "Here, Masen."

All eyes shoot toward me, and Edward doesn't take the potatoes from my hand. Instead, Jasper does and says, "Thanks, Brittany. After George has some I'll pass them to Hannah." The table breaks into laughter, but I'm worried and keep my eyes on Edward. He's laughing too.

After dinner, we sit on the swings, not talking, just being. For awhile, at least. "Masen, I—"

"Will you cut that out? It's weird."

"I thought you wanted me to call you Masen."

"I never asked you to."

"But James does."

"James is different. He gets it."

"And I don't?"

"No—I don't mean—I just . . . he's not my family. You . . ." His words hang in the air, the weight of them settling on our shoulders. "I don't expect my family to call me by a new name. That would be stupid. Like you asking me to call you Jennifer or something."

This is deep, even for us. We know we love each other; we know we're like family, but we've never actually said those words. The two of us are too damaged to say such things. Admitting feelings leads to pain, a lesson we've both learned along the way. So I know just how special this moment is, and I take it to heart. "It was weird, but I was trying," I say, smiling to lighten the mood.

"Thanks, but . . . you don't have to."

"Okay."

"Good."

"Wanna make some of those peanut butter cookies?"

"That sounds good."

"All right, just tell me when they're done." I push off the ground and swing as he laughs.

"I'm not making you cookies."

"Well, I'm not calling you Masen."

"Deal."


	6. I Wish I Could

**Chapter 6: I Wish I Could**

I think about calling Edward Masen just to jolt him out of this closed-off state. His silence is driving me crazy. My knee bounces with my annoyance. I drop my bag for a minute and swing, enjoying the peace that comes with the wind in my hair. "Are you on drugs?" I blurt out, sounding winded.

"Don't do drugs."

"You have."

"Here we go . . ."

"You're so cute when you're high. Like a little boy."

"I _was_ a little boy."

"Well, it's a rite of passage, and someone had to initiate you. I wanted you safe. And you even tried it a few more times after that first taste . . . you liked it."

"Not saying I didn't."

"But you don't—"

"I'd never lose control like that here."

"What do you do to relax? It's not like you're getting your rocks off."

"Gee, thanks."

"Seriously, what do you do?"

"I skate."

"Want me to visit? Bring some pot?" I slow myself to a stop and pull my sewing things back onto my lap, continuing my project.

"Yeah, get right on that."

The image of Edward stroking the carpet of my childhood bedroom invades my mind, and I'm suddenly reminiscing about the first time he smoked pot.

James keeps a nice stash of pot for when he needs to cool down. He's a hot head. I'm not, but sometimes I can be a bit neurotic; I like its mellowing effect. I don't do it often, only when I can't calm down. Edward's been so tense since arriving this summer, we thought we'd introduce him in a safe way, in our home – next door to his aunt.

Edward's fourteen and about to start high school in a few weeks, so it seems as good a time as any. James, myself, Jasper, and Edward set some pillows on my floor and light up. Edward's eyes are shifty from the start.

He giggles first, babbles second, and then starts getting touchy feely. Jasper watches closely with a frown on his face as Edward runs his hand down my arm, fascinated by my skin.

Jasper and I kissed for the first time just before school let out. We haven't really talked about it, haven't decided on anything – well, I haven't, anyway. The scowl on Jasper's face makes it apparent he'd like me to solidify things with him soon.

"Your hair's so pretty. When the sun hits it, it's like dark honey."

"Oh, man, Masen's toast," James says through laughter, then takes another hit, passing the joint to Jasper.

Jasper takes it, inhales, and passes it to Edward.

"Thanks, you're such a good cousin. And your dad's so great. You better be grateful. Grateful," Edward says, a finger pointed in Jasper's face. Jasper smacks it away, laughing.

"I am. I'm grateful. You should be grateful too; you should stay here."

"I wish I could," Edward says, dreamy smile on his face. "Alice wants me to stay. Huh, Alice?" He gives me a hug and doesn't let go. It's creeping me out. I motion for Jasper to help me, and he pulls Edward up, switching seats with him.

James and Jasper discuss skating – something he's taken up recently. He's actually pretty good. Not as good as Edward or James, but good enough. He's athletic, has good balance.

As they talk, Edward takes off his shoes and socks, flops onto his back, and runs his hands over his hair and then over the carpet repeatedly. He seems to be fixated with textures. At least he's relaxed.

The pot wears off, and Edward and I get a moment to talk about our families while Jasper and James hide the evidence. It's the first time he's had a frank conversation with me this summer. He's taken to fighting back, protecting his mother when needed. The weight of his mom's safety is on his shoulders. No wonder he's so tense.

We smoke out a few more times that summer, trying to relax and numb our pain. I could forget my mother treats me more like a needy roommate than a daughter, and Masen could forget he's used as a punching bag. We both enjoyed our moments of peace.


	7. I'm Not Their Son

**Chapter 7: I'm Not Their Son**

The sound of Edward moving around draws me from my pot-smoking summer. Fabric's rustling, papers are shuffling, and a bag of some sort is unzipped. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here. Just getting something."

"What'd you get?"

"Just my notebook."

"You're still writing?"

"Everyday."

"Good. I don't think it's healthy to keep it all bottled up."

"I don't. I tell you."

"You should probably tell a professional."

"Not everyone needs to be in counseling."

"Mmm," I say, not agreeing at all. Counseling has done me wonders. "Are you at least honest in your notebook."

"I am."

"Good. I think writing has been so beneficial for you. Getting you that notebook is probably the best thing I ever did." I hear the scratching of his pencil over paper. It's such a familiar sound. I remember listening to him write when he came to stay with us. I really am so glad I got him that first notebook to begin with. Well, sort of. My mind takes me back to the summer he got his first taste of the written word.

Edward meets me outside my summer English Two-oh-Two class. He's on his board and a bit sweaty. He's so tall. It feels like I haven't seen him in so long, though we just talked last night on the phone.

"Hey, stoner," I say, pulling him into a hug.

He shakes his head at my greeting but says, "Hey," anyway. We both know smoking out a few times doesn't make one a stoner. But it makes me laugh, so I continue to call him that.

"When did you get so handsome?" Edward laughs through his nose like it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. "I'm serious. No wonder Samantha's devastated. She'll never find someone as cute as you." I pinch his cheek, and he just takes it. He's so good to me like that. Jasper would never let me get away with that – even after two years of dating.

Edward and I eat at a local grill, and he orders fries and a burger. It's the size of a house, but he finishes it all. Who knows where he keeps it. He's so thin.

"So when does she move?" I ask, taking a sip of my Coke.

"Um, I think a week or two before I get home."

"You gonna miss her?" Edward shrugs. "That much, huh? I thought you liked her."

"I did."

"You did?"

"Well, she's gone now, so . . ."

"Don't worry about it. You'll find her."

"Who?" he asks skeptically, stealing one of my fries. He's an endless pit.

"_The_ girl. You'll turn sixteen in a week; you're young. You've got time – you'll find her. The one that will make all this crap you're going through seem like nothing."

"I don't know if that's—"

"No, really . . . just listen. I love Jasper; he's changed me. My stepdad was real—you know this, anyway, I just thought I'd never be able to trust guys—"

"You still don't."

"I—" Edward raises his eyebrow, challenging me. "I trust you."

"But I don't count."

"Of course you count. You're . . ." I reach across the table and grab his hand. His fingers are limp, like he doesn't know what to do. I squeeze them, and he squeezes back, a sad smile on his face. "You count, Edward, never forget that."

He nods, but I'm sure he's really not taking in what I'm saying. He's been dealing with verbal and physical abuse all these years, it's like talking to a wall. A getting-tall-and-too-cute-for-his-own-good wall. Frankly, I'm surprised Samantha's the only one that's gotten her claws into him. If I weren't so in love with Jasper, perhaps I'd take a shot too. He's amazingly sweet and thoughtful, and his silence, though frustrating, is endearing in a way.

We finish our drinks and my fries, talking casually about Rosalie and her new boyfriend, Emmett. Things are getting serious – she's been bringing him around the house. He's met the parents, the brother, and even Edward, though that meeting was quite awkward. Poor Rosalie has always been conflicted about Edward's situation. The fact that she can't do anything about it and that her parents haven't either – aside from some heated phone calls with threats to his parents – has caused a rift in her relationship with him. She seems to go out of her way to ignore him or avoid him, so she doesn't have to deal with the guilt of not being able to help. I understand it, I do, but she's missing out. Edward is so amazing and the most loyal person I've ever known.

"Do you think they'll get married?" I ask, cleaning up my trash and putting it in a pile. Edward shrugs. "Ugh, will you stop that?"

"What?"

"You, with the . . ." I shrug six times in succession, and he laughs. He's so cute. "Okay, really, no one but Samantha has been chasing after you?"

He lulls his head backward and groans. "Again, I don't—I'm not like—I keep a low profile."

"But you're friends . . . they're not, like, trying to hug you or hold your hand or grab your butt?"

"No," he protests with a squeak. He drops his head to the table in embarrassment.

"Well, did you at least get a, um . . . a goodbye, um, before . . ."

"Yeah, we had uh, um, goodbye."

"Well, I guess that's good since it'll clearly be awhile, Mister Low Profile. I bet you could just like take your pick. Do a trick on your skateboard and be like, 'Hey, baby, wanna ride with me?'." My masculine voice is so lame. I should practice it more.

"Could you just stab me?" he asks, head still on the table. "Right here." He points to his ear. "Quick and painless. Thanks."

"You're such a whiner. No wonder your dad . . ."

He sits upright and narrows his eyes before we both bust up laughing, uproarious guffawing that causes the majority of the joint to look us over. Oh well. At least we can laugh about our circumstances. I think it's a necessity. If laughter is missing from life, it's all for nothing, in my opinion.

Edward, Jasper, and I make the most of our summer. We spend a lot of time at a local coffee house where the college kids hang out, myself included. They're doing a summer series of open mic nights, where lots of beatnik wannabes get up and read their drivel. Jasper and I think it's stupid. Edward – while he doesn't disagree outwardly – seems to love it.

On a quick Target run with Esme to get some shampoo and Q-tips, Edward surveys the office supplies. He keeps passing by the spiral notebooks and biting his fingernails. "You kids ready?" Esme asks, pushing her cart into the aisle.

"I need a notebook for school. Can you spot me the money, and I'll pay you back?"

"Just pick one," she says, flicking her hand in the direction of the shelf containing the bound paper. Some are floral, some full of polka dots, others showcasing pop stars. I run my hand over a plain blue one, pick it up, and flip through it, glancing back to catch Edward's eyes. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and bows his head. Esme buys it for me, and later that night I leave it in Edward's room.

Over lunch the next day, Edward puts a hand on my shoulder, and I pat it in return. "You just have to ask. They'd give you anything, Edward."

"It's not my place," he says quietly.

"They love you like a son. You know that, right?"

"I'm not their son."

"Yeah, but—"

Rosalie and Emmett burst through the kitchen door, talking loudly. "Can you believe that cheesy line at the end?" Rosalie asks through a rare bout of laughter. Her hand is encased in Emmett's large one. They've just come home from the movies.

"Hey, Rose," I say, alleviating the tension.

"Hi. C'mon, Emmett." She doesn't say anything else and climbs the stairs to her room with Emmett in tow. I turn back to Edward and rub his arm.

"They just want what's best for you. We all do." He nods in assent but never fully recovers from that event. I spend some time with him on the swings, trying to tell him how much we love him, how much _I_ love him, even though I can't say it. "Remember when I called you Masen, and you got all . . ."

"Yeah, I remember."

"You said I was—"

"Family."

"Okay, yeah, except you didn't really say that."

"That's what I meant."

"Why don't we say those things to each other?"

"Why do we have to?"

"It's good for you." Edward turns to face me, eyebrow quirked. "Really," I say, laughing. "When I told Jasper I loved him—"

"You told him you loved him?"

"Yes," I say, proud of my admission.

"Wow."

"Look, it just made such a difference. It was like this load off my shoulders, like I could finally breathe or something. And I want that with you."

"You are the only person I breathe around."

His words hit hard, and I know now's the right time to tell him just how I feel, even though he probably already knows.

"I feel the same way. I . . ." I inhale and angle my body toward him before speaking. "I really care about you. You're my brother – in every way that matters – and I love you."

"I . . ." His voice is soft, eyes cast to the ground. I place my hand on his shoulder and stand, wrapping my arms around him. He stands, and we hold each other in a fierce hug. "Love you too, Alice."

No more needs to be said, so I leave him to his own devices. He spends the rest of the evening on the swings, his notebook open, pencil in hand. He can share his feelings with those that matter to him, and even if life at home isn't the greatest, at least he has an outlet now. Of that, I'm glad.


	8. You Like the Checkered Ones, Huh?

**Chapter 8: You Like the Checkered Ones, Huh?**

"How's business?" Edward asks, pulling me from my reverie. He's really skirting something. I wish he'd just say what he wants to say. He's only been in Arizona a few weeks, and already he's lost his sense of self. It's so sad.

"It's good. I'm working on a new product now. Messenger bags for cool chicks like me. The handle is a tie."

"That sounds a bit . . ." he trails off, not wanting to insult me but doing so anyway.

"Oh, shut up. Just because you have no taste or the slightest idea of what's attractive—"

"I know what's attractive."

"Really, when's the last time you saw something attractive?"

"Today," he says. Ooh, this sounds interesting, though I just wish he'd get to the point of this conversation. "My new Vans got talked about, sort of . . ." He laughs like he's told an inside joke, only I don't get it. He's trying to deflect.

"Yeah, what'd they say?"

"They . . . well, they had Vans too."

"Who doesn't have Vans? All you skaters have Vans."

This summer Edward, his aunts, and I spent too much time inside stores looking for his new school shoes. Erin razzed him about his indecisiveness, which was fun to watch. He may have missed Erin's wedding and her pregnancy, but any time he spends with his three-year-old cousin, Maddie, is priceless. He adores her. So much so that he settled on a pair of checkered Vans because of her. And I'm so glad, too, because the shoes are perfectly him. Classic, not too showy, and a little quirky. So Edward. It was nice to have some fun too since the first few weeks he was with us were so stressful. I don't think I'll ever forget this past summer.

"So . . . I know that you said you'd live with your aunt and uncle senior year, and that you've changed your mind, but—"

"Not you too?" Edward asks, trying on a pair of brown Vans.

"Just hear me out."

"I already heard Rose out. She went ballistic on me after I told her I couldn't stay. I made the decision too early. I should have never promised. You know she threatened to have Emmett kidnap me? I wouldn't put it past him. He'd do anything for her."

Saying Rosalie went ballistic is putting it lightly. She keeps her feelings about Edward guarded, always has. She doesn't want to get hurt because loving him – and watching him leave – hurts. Her skin's not as tough as mine, and, frankly, she just doesn't know what to do. She hasn't had my training, so to speak. So when he committed to staying – which he's never done before – she softened her stance, opened up, laughed more, talked more with him. So, yeah, when he took back his word, she went berserk. I would, too, had I been in her shoes.

Edward's only been in California for three weeks, and it's been tumultuous at best. He showed up with a black eye and a split upper lip. It's the first time he's arrived that battered. Carlisle was livid, getting on the phone right away, talking with Elizabeth and chewing her out. Esme mostly fretted about the state of his physical appearance – his weight, like always, but also his tattered clothes and too small shoes – which is why we're currently shopping. Esme wouldn't hear Edward's refusal.

"He would, and you know that Jasper would do anything for me, so when I asked him if you could live with us, he said yes."

"Alice, no. You just moved in with him. He's been asking you forever. I can't—"

"You can."

"I won't." He shakes his head vehemently and pulls the shoes off his feet, throwing them back into the box.

"This is different. It's not mooching off your family; it's living with me. I'm just your friend – in the technical sense. And I want you there. You can finish up high school here and everything."

"You don't—I can't just leave her there. You don't know what happens when I'm not there."

"Look at me." He keeps his head in his hands and spreads his legs wider on the bench, melting into it. "Please," I say, and he swivels his head enough to peek at me. "I want you safe."

"I am."

"You're lying."

"I can't leave her."

"Someday you'll have to."

He nods his head and rubs his arm roughly.

"Are you kids done? I'm starving."

"Yeah, we're done." Edward shelves the shoes and gets up.

"Not 'til you pick out shoes, you're not. It's your seventeenth birthday, and I'm buying my nephew a pair of damn shoes, got it?" Esme gives him her mother's eye, and he turns to face the wall of shoes.

Erin saunters into the store, spotting us quickly. I'm glad she's here because Esme's kind of pissy, and Erin always helps to improve her mood. It doesn't hurt that she always brings her cute kid along. "What is taking so long? Maddie needs to eat. She's being a grump," Erin says.

"Edward thinks he's at Olivander's. The wand picks the wizard, you know," I say.

Maddie spins her skirt back and forth and then twists under her mother's hand, letting go and joining Edward. "Ah, so it's like the Vans pick the skater."

I love Erin; she's so cool. Esme is a mom, but Erin is like a really cool aunt. Lucky Edward. Too bad he doesn't get more time with her. She lives in northern California with her husband. I suspect she's visiting this summer since Edward will be a high school graduate in a year, and who knows when we'll see him after that, if at all.

"Let's hope so," I say. Esme's busy texting while Erin and I stand aside and take in the scene before us. Maddie tugs on Edward's new jeans, and he drops to a knee to be eye level with her.

"What, love bug?" he asks.

She cups her chubby hands around Edward's ear and whisper's loudly enough for us to hear. "I have da pink checkwad ones."

"You like the checkered ones, huh? I don't know how I feel about pink." Edward stands, finds a pair of black and white checkered Vans, and tries them on. He lifts his leg, pointing and flexing his foot to show the new shoe off. It's quite effeminate and gets a giggle out of Maddie. "What do you think? Better than pink?" She shakes her head with a mock grimace on her face, and he laughs. "I'm glad you approve." She shrugs, and he follows suit.

Erin, Esme, and I eye each other. It's possibly the cutest thing any one of us has ever seen.

We eat dinner at Johnny Rockets, and Edward and Maddie sit side by side. By the end of the meal, she's dancing atop his new checkered Vans to "Rock Around the Clock," and all of us women are speechless. We're so ecstatic to bear witness to Edward's happiness for once. We only wish it could be continuous. He deserves to live a life full of joy.


	9. Her Name is Bella

**Chapter 9: Her Name is Bella**

I move back inside the house, the air conditioned room disrupting my thoughts. It's too dark out now to see my stitching. Edward and I have been on the phone for a solid hour talking about nothing. This is what happens when I let him lead the conversation, which I do when he calls me. Edward's called me a total of three times, including this call. The first time it took him an hour to tell me his mom slapped him after he suggested she divorce his dad. The second time, after an hour and a half talking about his English class, he confessed he lost his virginity. So, I'm positive this conversation is important. He doesn't call unless he has something momentous to share.

Edward drones on about his shoes and his day at The Wedge. I love him, but there's only so much I can hear about his tricks since I don't skate. Jasper fares better with that since he skateboarded for awhile in high school and some in college.

I'm finishing up the last bit of hand sewing I can do and itching to move back to my sewing machine. It's rare that I'm motivated to follow through like this, so I want to ride this wave of productiveness. I decide to throw caution to wind and push him a bit, more than I usually do when he's in Masen mode.

"So what is it you really want to talk about? Because I know there's a reason you're calling."

"I can't just call and talk to my best friend?"

"You can. But you don't. Not unless there's something big you have to tell me."

"Well, it's not big . . ."

"But it's something . . ." I prompt, settling on the couch and getting comfortable. Jasper comes out of our bedroom and sits beside me, pulling out the _Times_ magazine. I roll my eyes. He knows I hate that garbage.

He smiles and nudges me with his elbow then mouths, "Who?"

I mouth back, "Edward," and continue my conversation.

"I'm not sure if—well, I don't know if I should—"

"If you should what, Edward?" I say, my voice straining with my irritation.

"Well, I . . . I met someone today."

I sit up straight and grip Jasper's thigh, and he winces. "A female someone?"

"No, an alien someone."

"Smartass."

"You're being annoying."

"_You're_ being annoying. Will you just tell me what's going on and stop being so Masen?" I keep hold of Jasper's thigh, my heartbeat picking up in anticipation. I'm dying to know what's going on, and I can't help the giddiness that bubbles up inside me over this development. Edward has been so lonely in Arizona. He has good friends – I know that – but they don't really know him because he won't let them. We talk about it all the time, but he's not willing to concede to letting his guard down there. I try to be understanding because I don't really know what it's like to be in his shoes, but part of me wonders how much better his life would be if he'd just confide in someone other than me.

"I—she—we walked home today together . . . most of the way anyway, and she's different. She's not chatty or annoying, and she didn't look at me like I was weird or anything. She's kind of—she's—she's awkward and funny as hell."

Thank you! Now there's the Edward I know, mostly. He's getting there anyway.

"Okay, listen to me, and listen to me good."

"I'm listening," he says, laughing, his tone light.

"Tell me everything about her, and spare no detail, okay?"

"Okay."

"I mean it."

"Okay."

"So . . ."

"Her name is Bella . . ."


End file.
